Midnight Ride
by pocketcucco
Summary: Connor and Haytham loot a supply wagon. As per usual, much bickering ensues.


I should probably be working on tons of other things right now, but I missed writing Connor and Haytham's banter... I wish they had more missions together in the game, sobs.

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**_Midnight Ride_**

We rode out to the frontier that night, when the low-lying mists were still curling around the trees. Connor navigated confidently between them, his head held high and the reins of his horse gripped tightly in his hands.

I followed him more cautiously, alert for the telltale crash of a redcoat patrol coming through the forest. We heard nothing, though, save for the gentle thump of our horses' hooves against the grass and dirt.

We followed the main roads for some time, but eventually Connor took us deeper into the woods. I could see the fireflies there, fluttering in the night. When was the last time I came out this far and really enjoyed the scenery? Years ago, back when I was still meeting with Ziio in secret. Sometimes the fireflies would sneak into our tent and dance above our heads as we lay awake.

The memory made me sadder than I expected it to; especially since, only days before, Connor had told me about her death by fire.

I sighed and cast that thought away.

"What is it?"

I looked up. Connor was staring at me from over his shoulder. I couldn't see his expression – his face was hidden by the shadows of his hood – but there was some curiosity in his usually surly tone.

"Thinking."

"Ah."

He said no more, but the gentle interest hadn't left his voice.

"About your mother and I, a long time ago. We met in the woods. In places that looked very much like this."

Connor rode in silence for a while. "Why?" he asked after a spell.

"Why, what?"

"Why meet in the woods? What did you have to hide?"

"The other members of the Order would not have liked to see their Grand Master shirking his duties to pursue a relationship. And Ziio doubted that the members of her – and your – village would be happy to see her consorting with one of the white settlers."

"Oh."

"You assumed I was ashamed of my relationship with her. With a Native woman."

Connor glanced at me. It was a brief, fleeting look.

"Most people would be. I have seen it happen with the people of my village. The settlers are ashamed of them. I thought that was why you left her."

I snorted. "_She _left _me._"

"I see."

He sounded proud. For a moment, I considered reaching forward to knock him from his mount.

"She disapproved of my work. That was all."

"She made a good decision, then."

"Now, see here-"

Connor suddenly threw up his right hand, signaling for me to stop. I tugged quickly on my horse's reins and stood beside him.

There were voices up ahead. A multitude of footsteps. I squinted through the trees and saw a group of redcoats: several were carrying torches, but besides them, there seemed to be at least eight others in the group. Behind them trailed a covered wagon, and behind that, another group of four soldiers taking up the rear.

"A supply train," Connor observed in a low whisper. "They will be taking this week's provisions to the fort farther up the hill."

"So it would seem."

We exchanged a look. He motioned to the convoy with a shrug of his shoulders and a smirk on his lips.

"Shall we?"

"Oh, let's."

We dismounted silently and tied our horses to nearby trees. And then we crept through the underbrush, slow and steady, until we were alongside the marching group of men.

Connor gestured to me again. We were moving on his signal – and for the moment, he wanted me to stay completely still, even though the soldiers were moving right past us. Right then would have been the perfect time to strike, to catch them completely unawares.

But I obeyed my son and stayed put.

The soldiers were upon us. I stared at Connor, waited for him to signal the attack, but I saw him pulling something from one of the pouches at his waist. His pistol, perhaps? Those rope darts I'd seen him use to hang men from the trees and sides of buildings? He'd ruin the surprise of our attack if he used either one of those.

He retrieved a round object and held it in the palm of his hand. A smoke bomb. I gave him a devilish smile as he lit the device and rolled it beneath the passing wagon.

The soldiers – some too tired to notice, others too preoccupied with their own thoughts or whispered conversations amongst their fellows – failed to notice it. Until it exploded, of course, and a thick plume of smoke enveloped their traveling party.

Connor motioned to me again. He took the front group, while I was to take the back. I pulled the sword from my side and jumped eagerly into the fray.

The redcoats were coughing violently in the cloud. I stabbed at the nearest, piercing him through the neck, and pushed him aside. The man hit the ground with a strangled moan.

One of the others went still. "Williams? Williams, are you-"

I stuck him through the chest like a suckling pig, and down he went.

The smoke was slowly beginning to clear. The soldiers were beginning to wise up; they drew their weapons, aiming them wildly, searching for their silent assailants. I quickly dispatched a third redcoat before he could find me.

The fourth watched with horror as his companion fell at my feet. No doubt the poor man was expecting a quiet, peaceful journey to the fort, where he could finish the night with a hot meal and a warm bed.

What an unfortunate fellow, I thought as I engaged him in a brief battle. He threw up his musket, and succeeded in blocking my sword – but not the hidden blade at my wrist. I cut his throat while he was distracted.

There. My group was finished. The smoke was mostly gone, so I turned to see if Connor needed my help, or if I could start looting the supply wagon.

Five of the eight in my son's group were lying facedown in the dirt, all bloodied and cut apart. He was in the process of drawing his tomahawk through a sixth when I caught sight of him.

A massive brute took advantage of the distraction and was creeping up behind Connor, his woodcutter's axe hefted high.

I ran without thinking and desperately threw up my sword to block the attack. The brute was stunned, but only for a moment; he recovered rather quickly and drew back.

"Bit of a coward, aren't you?" I said as he moved around me in a slow circle. "Too afraid to fight him face-to-face?"

"You're one to talk," he replied. The soldier lifted the axe again and swung.

I dodged with a quick sidestep – but not quickly enough, unfortunately, because the blade very nearly came down on my foot.

But I had an opening; the brute's axe was heavy enough that it took him a few moments to heft it back on his shoulder. I took advantage of that and stabbed at him with my hidden blade.

"Perhaps you should try a lighter weapon next time," I told the man as he fell, reaching for his bloodied neck with madly grasping hands.

"Haytham!"

I turned at the sound of Connor's voice – and just in time, because one of the last remaining soldiers was thrusting his sword in my direction. I tried to block it, but I wasn't quite fast enough; the blade slipped past mine and grazed off my arm.

The pain was immediate and fiery. I grasped at the wound, muttering curses. The redcoat grinned and punched at my chest. He knocked the breath from my lungs, but I wasn't out just yet; the soldier tried to follow up his attack with a clumsy swing at my throat, but I managed to parry his attack. He stumbled away, and Connor buried his tomahawk deep in the back of the poor man's head.

"Are you all right?" my son asked, glancing at the cut along my arm. It wasn't deep, but through my torn clothing I could already see a thin line of blood welling up along my skin.

"He barely scratched me. I believe I'll live," I said, still trying to catch my breath – and failing to hide the fact, given the look Connor gave me.

I kicked at one of the fallen men, hoping to change the subject. "An inexperienced bunch. I almost feel sorry for them."

"Leave them be."

"What is this? Some sensitivity for our fallen enemies? The massive one over there very nearly cleaved you in two."

"I could have defended myself just fine," Connor said as he made his way to the back of the covered wagon. "…But I suppose I should thank you for intervening nonetheless."

"Oh, of course you should."

His expression turned sly. "You were almost killed yourself, though. What would you have done if I had not warned you?"

"I believe I could have managed."

"Of course," he said mockingly.

I followed him, but not without a sneer of my own. Who raised him to speak to his elders with such sass? Was it Ziio? Or that blasted Achilles? It must have been the old man; he had quite the mouth on him during our interrogation sessions. I myself would have raised Connor with much more decorum and respect-

My son cut off that line of thought by tossing me a carton of what smelled like cheese - or something that had once been cheese, before it started to stink like a frontier farm in the heat of summer.

"Take that. We can bring it to Washington's men tonight."

"Oh, _no_. I am not providing that man with any food or weaponry or whatever else might be in the back of that wagon. He deserves none of it. No, we are bringing this to the men stationed in-"

Connor gave me a look of familiar contempt. I saw Ziio in his eyes then, and in the lines of his mouth. The expression was so startling that it gave me pause.

"You are welcome to leave now if you would like. But all of these supplies are going with me."

"I helped just as much to obtain them."

"You made five kills tonight. I made seven. I believe the spoils go to the victor. Isn't that right, _Father_?"

"I made at least five of the kills. I deserve something for my efforts, do I not?"

Connor motioned to the pungent crate of cheese with a wave of his hand. "You may have that, then. Bring it to your Templar companions. Tell them that it is a gift from the Assassins."

I wondered briefly what the boy might do if I tossed the crate at that smart mouth of his.


End file.
